City Rain, City Streets
by head's all empty
Summary: Diane Peters is smart, pretty, a bit arrogant and very popular amongst the Soc crowd. But one night, she witnesses something she isn't supposed to and finds herself in a rough situation with an even rougher greaser, Dallas Winston.
1. Chapter 1

**I hope this chapter isn't too hard to understand. This is NOT one of those stories where some poor little chick gets beat up by some guys for no reason. Pay close attention. And review :) **

**Disclaimer- I do NOT own the Outsiders by S.E. Hinton or "City Rain, City Streets" by Ryan Adams.**

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I hopped off the steps of the bus, remembering the phone call I'd had earlier with my mother when at my grandmother's.

"Oh, and Diane?" my mother added tiredly from the other line.

I twirled the wire around my finger impatiently. "Yes?"

"Would you please stop by the market on your way home?"

I moaned.

"Diane," she insisted. "I simply don't have time and I need something to prepare for dinner tomorrow night. We're having company."

"The only stop by a market is on the East Side." I groused. "And it'll be dark by that time."

My mother sighed unhappily into the phone. "Diane, this is all I ask of you."

I grumbled to myself but finally caved. "I suppose…"

"Thank you, Diane. Now, make sure your grandmother takes her medication."

I visited my grandmother at least once a week. Someone had to check up on her every once in a while as she was pushing eighty and had a breathing problem of sorts. I didn't mind, really. She was warm and pleasant, unlike her daughter. She asked me about school and home and made scones. And she had a great big old house about an hour out of town, which I took the 22 Bus to visit.

I surveyed the area from the bottom step of the bus skeptically. I lived on the other side of town and rarely ever visited this side, especially by myself. Where I lived it was considered to be safer and cleaner and much wealthier, while over here, mostly everyone carried a blade with them at all times. Some of the greaser girls at my school even carried switchblades in their bags.

It was already dark and the pavement was damp from the rain earlier. The market was about three blocks down the main drag, the "Ribbon" as some of the kids from around here called it.

I started down the first block, keeping a steady pace, enjoying the earthy air. I always loved the way the air was after a good rain. It was moist and slightly warm, sort of humid. It was relaxing. The streets were mildly crowded, but being a week night, they were more empty. A few groups of kids walked aimlessly around.

When I came to the entrance to an alley, I took it. I know it's considered pretty stupid for a girl like me to walk through an alley at night. But, mind you, I think it's a lot safer than walking in the middle of a slightly busy street where any creep driving by could just spot you walking by yourself and pull over. Plus, the greaser kids around here always had something to say and I could see a few of them around.

So, I hummed to myself as I walked down the alley, kicking a few littered cans to the side. As I pressed out a wrinkle in my skirt, I heard a bang followed by a shout and some hissed profanities. I stopped humming. I couldn't tell how close or where the yelling was coming from, so I walked on, clutching my bag a little tighter.

I stopped. In front of where I stood, there was a teenaged looking kid pinned to the side of a building by a husky looking man. Another man stood a few feet away, gripping a small but sharp looking blade. The teenager had a distressed, angry look on his face and I noticed the husky looking guy was holding a tire jack over the kid's head.

My jaw hung open and my heart was in my throat. They all stared back at me in shock. Then the two men looked frantically at each other and I realized I had just witnessed something that I was by no means supposed to seemed to silently decide something and the man with the blade yanked me by the waist up against the opposite wall. He covered my mouth with his free hand. "You make any noise, this goes right down your entire middle, dollface." He growled, pulling the knife to my torso.

My body trembled. The boy moaned. "Aw, c'mon, man." The man hit him in the back of the head with the tire jack, not quite hard enough to knock him out. He mumbled a few profanities as blood dripped down the back of his neck.

He finally said something I couldn't hear, but I could tell it made the man mad because he pulled a pistol out of his jean pocket. I realized what was about to happen to this kid. Panicking, I bit down hard on the calloused palm covering my mouth and screamed. I shrieked so loud my throat stung and I wondered if I would be able to even speak again.

Anger flashed in the man's eyes and he looked to the other man again. Still shrieking, I felt a strange sort of pressure on my abdomen. It felt like something cold and hard had been pressed to it. My hand flew to the spot and my hand became soaked in a thick, dark crimson. The area throbbed and then the pain intensified and I gasped for air. I looked up. The man dropped the stained knife and darted away and the other dropped his tire tool and followed.

I looked around desperately and clutched my side, not sure what had happened. I felt like I was going to be sick.

"Oh, shit. Shit. Are you alright?" the guy grumbled as he appeared next to me.

I gave him a puzzled look. "Um, yes. Yeah, I suppose." I stammered.

"Fuck, man. Did they cut you?" his voice quivered with anxiety. I just lifted my bloody hand and looked at it.

"They did. This is great. This is just fucking great." He put his head in his hands. "Is there somewhere I can, I don't know, like take you?"

I looked up at him again. "The hospital?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "See, that ain't really gonna work. You live around here?"

I shook my head. He groaned. "Shit. What the hell am I supposed to do? How the fuck did this happen?" He seemed to wonder aloud.

By now the pain had really caught up with me. I closed my eyes and moaned in spite of myself. Then, he looped one arm around my waist, his hand covering the wound and the other over my shoulders, pulling me forward. "C'mon, hurry." He practically dragged me down the alley, cursing to himself along the way.

"Where are we going? Were are you taking me?" I questioned nervously.

"To get you fixed up. Now shut up." He snapped, his hand still clutching the wound, preventing the blood from gushing out, I guessed.

"The hospital? Are we going to the hospital?"

"No. I told you, I ain't taking you to the hospital. I drag in some bloody, trembling little soc chick and they lock me up in seconds." He growled. "What the fuck were you thinking? Man, I though you upper-middle class broads were supposed to be smart."

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**Do review. But, please do not criticize my character TOO harshly yet. This chapter didn't leave too much for building her character or anything yet. **


	2. Things Not Meant To Be Seen

I stared at him. I was hurting too badly to react to the comment. He looked about two years older than me, maybe seventeen or eighteen. He had a cold, mean look on his face. Part of that must have been due to the situation we were currently in, but I could tell it was a permanent sort of look. The side of his white tee shirt was stained red from me leaning up against him.

After about two more blocks of being dragged, he turned a corner and pulled open the gate of a small chain link fence.

I looked at the house. It was small and sort of worn looking, no different than most in the area. "Where are we?" Is this your house?"

He didn't answer. He just gripped tighter on my waist and trudged up the steps. I took a sharp breath as he did so, my side burning.

"Will you at least tell me your name?" I finally asked.

"It's Dallas."

He seemed to open the front door with no trouble. It must have been unlocked. Upon entering the house, we went straight down a dark, narrow hallway into a small, cluttered kitchen and he propped me up on the counter so that my feet dangled in the air. He began rummaging through the kitchen hastily, yanking open every drawer.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I stammered.

"I'm gonna stitch you up." He muttered, not looking up. He lifted a spool of black thread from a drawer and examined it.

I moaned. "Must you joke right now? I mean really, before I bleed to death!"

He appeared in front of me, holding a pair of scissors and the spool of thread. "Take your shirt off." He directed, threading a needle.

I stared at him in bewilderment. "Oh my God, you're not kidding."

"No, I sure as hell ain't kidding."

I just looked at him in disgust.

"What? You wanna bleed to death?"

"Of course not."

"Ok, then take off your shirt." He repeated. I didn't move. I just tightened my grip of my stomach. "How do you propose I sew you up if you've got some fucking shirt on?"

I want entirely set on removing my shirt in front of any dangerous looking hood. Plus, if anybody found out I had been topless with some greaser, there was no telling what people would have to say about me.

"Shouldn't a professional handle this?" I asked. "You know, like a doctor?"

He rolled his eyes. "We went over this already. Look, I ain't gonna take your shirt off for you."

He had a point. He was, by no means, going to take anything off for me. I gulped and bit my lip. Feeling my face turn slightly scarlet, I pulled off my shirt, revealing a lacy black bra and a seven inch gash across my stomach. I averted my eyes. "Is this going to hurt?"

He scoffed and smiled roguishly at me. "I could give you something to drink. Some booze oughta' get you to loosen up a bit."

I fought an urge to slap him across the face. Instead, I directed my attention to a crooked DX Service Station calendar that hung above the telephone.

"Ow!" I griped I felt a needle pierce my skin just below the cut.

"Quit moving. It'll just hurt more."

I tried not to look down at the abrasion hurriedly being sewn together on my side. It wasn't the blood that made me so uneasy. It was the needle. I had hated needles from an early age.

Suddenly, I heard loud chuckling from the hallway and the swinging door to the kitchen swung open. Two boys stood there. They both glanced at me, then at Dallas and then back at me.

"Whoa, Dal. In the kitchen?" A grinning boy with auburn hair and long sideburns snickered.

A smaller, leaner kid with light brown hair stood awkwardly next to him. His face turning a deep red, he looked away, "Aw, c'mon Dal."

I grabbed my blouse to cover my front. "Oh, no. You've go it wrong." I quickly assured them

The corners of Dallas's mouth lifted slightly and I gave him an expectant look. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Pony." He finally said. "I'm only sewing her up."

The boy looked relieved but still kept his eyes away from me. The side-burned boy quit his howling and gave me a puzzled luck. "Now, what the hell happened to you?"

After he said this, the younger boy gave me a quick glance, curious as to what sideburns was referring to. He winced as caught sight of our stained clothes and my half-stitched wound.

"I have been wondering the same thing." I mumbled. "Ow!" Dallas poked the needle back through my flesh.

Dallas growled, "This dumb broad got herself caught in the middle of a little incident with me and some guys."

"Little incident?" I blurted. "They had you at gunpoint! They were going to kill you!"

Both boys gave Dallas a curious look. "They were gonna kill you, Dal?"

Dallas scowled and shook his head. "They wasn't gonna kill me. I coulda gotten away. They was just accusing me of hustling some sonuvabitch at Buck's. He musta sent them out to take care of me."

The younger boy threw his head and sighed. "We told you not to get caught up in that gamblin' stuff."

"Hey," Dallas snarled, "shut up, Ponyboy. I'll do whatever the hell I want. The fact of the matter is this chick saw it before anything happened, screamed bloody murder and got herself cut from her tit to her belly button."

I gulped. It sounded so horrible. I silently cursed myself for ever even stopping over on this side of town.


	3. Wake Up

"Dal," Ponyboy, the younger boy, advised gently, "I think you oughta take her to a hospital." The older one nodded in agreement.

"Fuck that. I know what I'm doing." Dallas mumbled, finishing the cut. I'd grown almost used to the pain by now, and the thread just seemed to sort of tickle now.

"Are you almost done?" I whimpered impatiently.

"Yes." Dallas grumbled. I winced as he pulled the needle from the thread and tied it at the end.

I let out a deep breath, thankful that the stitching was over, though my stomach still throbbed and I felt naucuas enough to vomit.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

I ran a finger gently over the neatly stitched cut. I had to hand it to him, it had looked just about the same as the time my brother Marc had gotten stitches on his knee after tripping over the glass topped table in our living room. He had gotten them done by a doctor.

The other two boys watched me intently. "Man," the side-burned boy laughed, "that sure is some tuff lookin' cut." I groaned. I had very little interest in a "tuff" looking cut.

"You're gonna have to take those out in about or week or so." Dallas jerked a thumb at the cut as he watched his hands in the sink.

"Take them out?" I asked, confused. "You mean the stitches? How?"

He put away the thread and scissors. "Pull em' out."

I made a disgusted face and swallowed. "By myself?"

He nodded. Ponyboy handed me a chipped crystal cup of water. I accepted if and attempted a smile. "Is your name really Ponyboy?" I asked, instantly regretting it, it seemed rude out loud.

He laughed a bit. "Sure is. Weird huh?" I sipped from my glass slowly and shrugged.

"How 'bout you?" Side-burns asked, opening a bottle of beer with his teeth and sitting at the table. "You got a name?"

"My name is Diane."

"Pleased to meet you, _Diane_."

"Diane." Ponyboy said thoughtfully. "You seem familiar. You go to Will Rogers?"

I nodded. I was in the tenth grade a Will Rogers.

"Don't you have biology with Mears fifth period?" he asked.

"Yes, do you?" I asked. It was a fairly big class, but I couldn't imagine never noticing anyone with a name like Ponyboy.

He nodded.

"Darry around?" Dallas asked Ponyboy as he taped a strip of gauze over my cut, a newly lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. It filled the space around me with thick smoke and I wrinkled my noise.

"He's workin'. Why?"

"Gotta borrow his truck. Get the chick home." He jerked a thumb at me.

"Home?" I repeated. It was almost ten o'clock and I knew my mother would just about have a cow when she found me walking through the door with a blood stained almost two hours past curfew.

"Yeah. I take it you don't live around here."

I shook my head. "Thank God, no."

"Hey." I was aroused by a light nudge on my shoulder. I groaned and it was followed by a slightly harder one. "Wake up."

I pushed myself up from the slouch I sat sleeping in and squinted at the brawny man driving. He wore a smudged white tee shirt that skimmed over the protruding muscles on his torso and had darkish blond hair.

"What's your address?" he asked, giving me a side-glance.

I tried to prop myself up against the side of the car which only sent a sharp pain down my stomach. I rubbed my temples. My head throbbed.

"Christ, how did I get here?" I asked.

"You fell asleep. Or passed out, not sure which. You got cut pretty bad there, huh?" he explained, his eyes remaining on the road. "I'm Darry. You were in my house. Dallas was cleaning you up—"

I cut him off. "Yeah, I remember that part. That was your house?"

He nodded. "Man, you sure got lucky, you know? It isn't much like Dal to help out girls like that."

"Well, it was in vain. He sure isn't much of a gentleman." I snorted.

Darry chuckled. I stared out the window. We were only a few blocks from my home.

"Address?" he asked again as we halted at a stop sign.

"Oh, it's the next block down. It's a big white house, 1421. You won't miss it." I instructed. "Well, it was awfully nice of you to give me a ride over here. I'm not sure how I would have managed otherwise." I managed a half-smile as he approached the house.

Pulling up in front of the house, he said, "Sure thing. I'm sorry about tonight. Guess that was your last time over on the east side of town."

I gently managed out of the car and scoffed. _That's for sure,_ I thought to myself.

As he pulled away, I noticed the downstairs lights were on. They were only left on when someone was downstairs at the time.


	4. At The DriveIn

**Hope this chapter makes up for the suckish last one.**

**Disclaimer- I do not own the Outsiders by S.E. Hinton**

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I was standing at the doorstep when I realized I had no groceries. I cursed silently to myself. I took off my sweater and held it against my blouse, covering the rust colored stain.

I opened the front door and made a mad dash for the stairs, hoping to go upstairs and into my bedroom unnoticed.

"Diane." My mother reproached from the living room.

I halted at the first step on the stairs, gripping the railing.

"Where have you been? I called you over two hours ago."

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn't find an excuse. She eyed me suspiciously. "My God, you look awful. Do you feel alright?"

"I-I feel a little under the weather is all. I ought to get to bed—," I lied, scuttling up the stairs.

She stopped me again. "I still would like an explanation as to where you have been for the past three hours. You had me worried sick. I had a mind to call the police!"

"I didn't mean to worry you. I just stopped to meet Peggy and Debra." That was a believeable excuse. I met up with them often at the diner or the drive-in.

"Well, I wish you would have called. At least, I mean. You are way past your curfew, young lady." She sighed tiredly.

I nodded. "I'm sorry." I finally headed up the stairs, holding my sweater closely to my stomach.

"You're father is sleeping. Don't wake him while you're up there."

When I reached the hallway I glanced to my brother's bedroom. I thanked god the door was closed and no light shone through the crack at the bottom. If he had been awake, he would have instantly sided with my mother and given me hell about being out late. It wasn't that he was protective of me. That wasn't it at all. He was just like my parents. He was worried about being embarrassed by me.

I slipped into my bedroom, closing the door behind me and tossing the sweater on the floor. I peeled off my shirt, and tossed it in the bottom of the waste bin so that my mother wouldn't find it.

The wound was clean, but it disgusted me too much to look at it. I quickly buttoned my pajama top over it and slipped into bed.

***

I scanned the crowded biology classroom from my seat. Students piled in, chatting with classmates and throwing things across the room. Mr. Mears grouchily muttered to himself as he graded papers at his desk.

I spotted him, sitting at the corner table, writing in a composition notebook studiously. He stood out in the classroom with his long, greasy hair and cuffed jeans. Most of the greasers like him were placed in a lower level science class. I wasn't surprised to see him in the class. When I'd met him the other night he'd struck me as a smarter kid.

"Diane?" My thought was interrupted by a shrilly voice.

I looked up. Peggy was leaning over my desk, smiling widely. "Oh, hi Peggy"

"Hi Diane." she said as a few other girls pulled up beside her, friends of ours. "So are you gonna make it to the drive-in tonight? You won't believe who asked me if you were coming!" she squeaked excitedly. The other girls giggled along with her.

"Who?" I asked, furrowing my brow curiously.

"Rick Holdner" she exclaimed.

I tried to conceal my excitement. I just smiled to myself.

"I told you he had something for you, Diane!" Denise Mills cooed.

"God, he is so handsome. I am so envious of you, Diane." Barb Laden gushed. I shrugged my shoulders and reached into my book bag for a pencil.

"So are you going to come? Maybe he'll ask you to the dance!" Peggy grinned.

"God, he is so handsome. I am so envious of you, Diane." Barb Laden gushed.

"Of course I'll come." I said happily, flipping a piece of hair behind me shoulder.

"Take a seat ladies! The bell has rung." Mr. Mears directed sternly and Peggy and the girls giggled their way back to their seats.

I felt triumphant. Ricky Holdner was a senior, and a handsome one at that. He had dark, neatly combed hair and a strong build. He was on the football team and a real popular kind of guy. He practically had to beat off some of the girls at school with a stick. All the teachers loved him as well. He already received three college scholarships and everyone knew he would graduate at the top of his class.

***

"Lord, it's freezing!" I shuddered. I sat on the hood of Debra's brand new Corvette. It was her sixteenth birthday present from her father. He constantly showered her with nice gifts, but this really did take the cake. It was beautiful. Shiny and red, she looked perfect in it.

"Watch it, Diane! Try not to scratch the paint, willya? Debra warned as I pulled my knees up on the car and wrapped my arms around them in an attempt to get warm.

Peggy and Barb giggled. I sighed and swung my legs back over the edge of the car. The drive-in was loud and wild as usual. Kids hopped in and out of cars and greasy hoods brawled in the snack line. The drive-in was one of the only hang outs that were both a soc and greaser hang out, though both parties wished it weren't.

"Where's Rick? I thought you said he was gonna be here Peg." I asked.

"He is. Oh look!—there's Pam and Marc!" she jabbed a finger across the lot and giddily motioned them over.

Debra grabbed my hand. "C'mon, Di. Let's go get some Cokes. Maybe we'll see Rick." She suggested and I hopped off the car.

We stopped by the bathrooms and pushed through the hoards of girls applying lipstick and gossiping by the mirrors. I paused by the mirror to admire myself quickly. I readjusted the headband on my flippy collar-bone lengthed blonde hair and smiled.

We weaved back through the crowd, Cokes and popcorn in hand and waved to anyone we knew. Debra gabbed on about rumors at school and Glenn, who she was going with.

"I just can't stand him right now. I asked him to come tonight but he's going skiing for the weekend with his cousins—and that's the worst part!" she cried.

"What is?"

"His cousin Sandra! God, what a tramp!"

I gave her a doubtful look. "Oh, Deb, c'mon. For god's sake, she's his _cousin_!"

"Yeah, I know. But you haven't seen this girl! Oh, forget it. I don't even want to think about it"

I sighed and looked ahead. Peggy was giggling wildly and drinking from a hip flask. Peggy was a sweet girl, but she liked to get crazy on the weekends sometimes. Sometimes she would drink so much, we'd have to persuade a bunch of guys to carry her home.

I sat down beside her and offered her a box of popcorn. She waved it away and offered me a sip. I rolled my eyes.

"Good to see you, Diane." Marc waved.

"Hello Marc." I smiled and took a sip of Coke.

"Is that Rick?" Peggy slurred and motioned the flask towards a boy and a girl walking hand in hand by the snacks. The boy wore a red varsity jacket and the girl had long, full blonde hair.

"Who's he with?" Pam turned around and asked.

They came closer into view and I saw that he was with the senior cheerleader Donna Halpern. They swung their intertwined arms gently and laughed. My heart sank and a lump grew in my throat.

"Oh, that's Donna!" Marc waved to the couple. "Don't you know? They're going steady."

"Steady?" I almost whispered. Debra, Peggy, and Barb all gave me nervous looks."

"Yeah." Marc said admiringly. "May, she sure is cute." Pam gave him a shove in the stomach and he grimaced.

I simply tossed my hair back and took a long swig from Peggy's flask.


	5. Don't Come, and I Don't Follow

And it's back! Sorry for the wait, hope you haven't lost interest.

Disclaimer: I do not own "The Outsiders" but S.E. Hinton.

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I decided I had to get away. I wanted a moment by myself, to let the alcohol sink in and maybe find somebody to make old Rick jealous.

"I think I'll go get some more popcorn". I almost thought aloud, turning to Marc and Peggy, yet keeping my eyes ahead on the crowd.

"But Di–," Peggy attempted but I popped off the hood of the car once more and was gone.

I stood in the line by myself, my arms folded over me. I surveyed the surrounding teens, a mix of leather clad greasers and clean-cut socs. A smaller, golden-haired boy caught my eye. A definite greaser. He looked terribly familiar, and I noticed he was staring at me as well. Finally, he smiled and gave a short wave. I stared back for a while, my judgment not as sharp as it had been earlier. Finally, that odd feeling you get when you remember something you wished you hadn't came over me, and I automatically put a hand to my side where my wound had been. God, my memory was shot.

"Ponyboy" I muttered to myself. I grinned and waved back. He smiled nervously and turned away.

I seemed to have completely forgotten my original plan to find a new boy, and I realized this as I walked back through the lot, second Coke in hand. I spotted Ponyboy in a group of greasers, standing around some big red car. He seemed to notice me too, and I watched him tap the shoulder of a taller blonde haired boy. He turned around nonchalantly, and Ponyboy nodded toward me. The boy met his eyes with mine, and I instantly remembered that bleach blonde hair and well-sculpted upper lip. I put my head down and moved forward, again instinctively gripping my side.

As I trudged through the lot, looking at my shoes, I heard the scuffing of heels against the pavement behind me. I thought to look behind me, but before I could, a hand was on my shoulder and a face next to my own. I whipped my head around and saw Dallas, his head leaning in over my shoulder as he grinned smugly. I gasped.

"Ain't you that girl?" Dallas whispered in my ear, his breath smelling of cigarettes and hard liquor.

I shook him off and peered quickly at my surroundings, wondering who had witnessed it. "I gotta name you know," I hissed, whipping around to face him.

He fingered a strand of my long hair, smirking. It was obvious that he was at least twice as intoxicated as I had been. "Sure look better in the light, for a soc, at least."

I slapped his hand away. "You're a pig."

He laughed and almost stumbled backwards. "Hey, ain't I the one that saved your life?"

I scowled. I realized Dallas would never be seen with a girl from the other side of town, unless his friends were watching. It was all for show, a little joke to see if how far he could push some goody-two-shoes soc chick. I dragged him by the arm a few feet away, behind the bathrooms.

"You better shut the hell up," I seethed.

He pulled his arm away with surprising strength. "Hey," he said, seeming to have cooled down a little, probably because we were no longer in the view of his friends. "You ever take 'em stitches out?"

I bit the instead of my cheek and looked away, blushing. I hadn't taken them out. Every time I caught sight of the wound, I put it off. I considered a few times going to the hospital and having a nurse handle it, which was probably the safer idea, but I just couldn't bring myself to that either.

He shook his head, reaching into his shirt pocket for a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He showed no inclination of offering me one, but I shouldn't have been surprised.

"Shoulda' known." He lit a match of his a pendant hanging around his neck, the spark bright in the dimmed light. "Well, anyway, it ain't my problem…" He began to walk away.

"Wait," I blurted. He halted and cocked an eyebrow. "I –I don't really know–"

He let his cigarette hang in from his mouth for a moment and looked thoughtfully at me. Suddenly, he took a step forward, closing the distance in between us.

"Lemme see."

I looked around and stepped back, wrapping my arms tightly around myself.

Dallas put up his hands. "Alright, suit yourself."

I surveyed the area once more and dropped my arms. Dallas pulled up my shirt ever so slightly and glanced at the cut. I took a sharp breath as he did so, suddenly flushing.

"You gotta take that out. You seen the color of that thing?" he remarked, slightly annoyed. I wanted to die. I wondered how I had managed myself into a situation where I was taking advice from a greasy hood on the treatment of a six-inch wound on my stomach. I was angry.

"This is completely your fault," I hissed.

"Me? Hey, I didn't ask you to walk into that fight. That's how dumb broads end up dead. It ain't my fault you don't know shit," he spat.

"What was I supposed to do? Just watch while you were killed?"

"You need to learn to stay outta other people's issues. If it ain't your problem, it ain't your problem. Now, why don't you head on back to those little Soc friends of yours 'fore someone sees us."

I kicked the dirt and began to walk away, yelling over my shoulder, "Yeah, well, why don't you head on back to those white-trash greasers of _yours_!"

He snickered, flicking his cigarette, and we part ways.

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**Apologies if it is totally out of character, is hard to believe, seems as if it is written by a below-grade level 5th grader, etc.**

**Reviews are good things ;)**


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